


Cigarettes

by WeMadeMonsters



Category: American (US) Actor RPF
Genre: Comfort, Drabble, Drinking, One Shot, Other, Smoking, purposefully ambiguous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28037283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeMadeMonsters/pseuds/WeMadeMonsters
Summary: A/N: This is a one shot drabble! It’s a comfort story where the reader has had a tough day at work, and Chris talks it through with them. 1085 words, TW for smoking and drinking. Basically, this is me dipping my toes back in the writing thing.
Relationships: Chris Evans (Actor)/Reader, Chris Evans (Actor)/You
Kudos: 17





	Cigarettes

“That bad, huh?”

You’re sitting outside, on the log bench around the firepit in the backyard. It’s snowing, but only a little, and it’s pretty quiet in the neighbourhood for 8PM. Earlier, you came home from the worst pitch meeting of your life, raided the fridge for beer, and took yourself out to the back to smoke and stew.

“Did Dodger rat me out?”

Chris laughs softly, his feet crunching against the snow on the grass as he makes his way over. “He was sitting in front of the sliding door in the bedroom, so kind of. Also,” he sits next to you, hands in his coat pockets. “He’s a dog. So technically not?”

It’s your turn to laugh, but all you manage is a grim sort-of smile as you flick the cigarette butt you were nursing into the firepit. Chris sighs, and wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer. You resist the first tug or two, but eventually you let yourself lean into his side, sighing along with him as you reach into your own coat pocket and pull out the pack of cigarettes. Chris is nuzzling into the side of your head, and he stops when he catches sight of the packaging.

“Are those mine?”

“Yeah.” There’s a pouting quality to your voice, and your lips turn down slightly at the corners. “We’re quitting, remember? So I couldn’t go and buy any.”

Chris snorts, and kisses your head just above the shell of your ear. “It’s fine, Y/N. I just thought I hid them better.”

“Your sock drawer ain’t exactly Fort Knox, Evans.”

He laughs, and something relaxes in your heart and you’re able to laugh too. “How was filming?”

“Good. We got a lot done.” He plucks the cigarette from your lips after you light it and raises it to his own, exhaling away from you. You hold up the can of beer when he’s done, and he trades you the cigarette for it. For the first time, you realize you’re a little buzzed… And that your feet are cold. Chris finishes the beer and relaxes his grip around your shoulder so he can set the can on the ground along with the others. “You been out here awhile, Y/N?” His voice is soft, edged with a little concern.

You shrug, curling into his side a little tighter as he straightens. You know he knows you have, so instead of answering you concentrate on the cigarette for a few minutes. His hand rubs against your upper arm, and the longer you sit there together, the more you can feel yourself relaxing and the bad thoughts seeping out of your head.

“I bombed the pitch.” Your voice is quiet, and it sounds every bit as insecure as you feel. Chris sighs again, softly, and presses another kiss to your head. You can feel your face pinching and getting hot, quiet fury rising up from your stomach. You hate crying about work. “I don’t know if I sucked, or they just weren’t into it or-“ You cut yourself off with a sniffle, cigarette in one hand and the other raising up to press your palm into your forehead.

Chris gently takes the hand you’d raised and pulls it down, pressing his warm lips to your cold cheek. He lets go of your hand, fingers running along your jaw to tilt your head towards his before pressing his lips to yours. You linger on the kiss, a few tears sliding down your cheeks. Everything feels jumbled – but he feels steady, like a rock. After you part, he listens to you talk about what happened during the meeting, moving his arm from your shoulder to rub your back as you lean forwards.

By the time you’re done hiccupping and sniffling out the story, the cigarette is out, and you toss it dejectedly into the firepit, roughly rubbing your eyes on the back of your coat sleeve. Chris is quiet, you can practically hear him turning it over in his head. The two of you have talked about using his connections repeatedly, with you rejecting the idea each time he brings it up. You know that he wants to help, but you desperately want to make it on your own. Having your name attached to his in the press already is opening doors you know might otherwise be shut, and you both hate that it bothers you.

“Listen-“ He starts, and you tense, thinking he’s about to bring up his connections again. “I don’t think you sucked.”

“But-“

“I know, I know. I wasn’t there. But we’ve practiced this, Y/N. I mean, you’ve pitched it to me about a hundred times the past two weeks, and you’ve been a rock star each time. You’re funny, you’re dynamic, you’re engaging. Is it possible you were off today?” He gestures and shrugs. “Yeah. Sure. But that doesn’t mean it’s all your fault, okay?”

You’re quiet for a moment or two, and finally let out a resigned sigh. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Chris is smiling softly; you can hear it in his voice. “Let’s go inside then, okay? Dodge is probably lonely, and we should get some food in both of us.”

You nod and stand, swaying slightly in place as Chris collects your empty cans, tucking them under one arm before slipping the other around your waist, leading you back inside. True to form, Dodger barks and whines when you both enter, and you kneel down to stroke his ears while Chris makes his way to toss the empties in the recycling in the kitchen.

“Hey buddy, I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to be cold while I was out there. I know you hate your sweater – hey, no, okay, yes, thank you.” You manage to get the last part out as the dog licks your face, and you end up giggling a little. Standing, you follow Dodger into the kitchen, ditching your coat and boots near the entrance as you go. You see that that Chris has done the same, and that he’s now standing in front of an open fridge with a look of heavy consideration on his face. You slip under his arm, pressing into his side as you both consider the pathetic contents of the appliance. You’ve both been busy and forgotten to place grocery orders the past two weeks.

“So I was I thinking…”

“Order in?”

“Order in.” Chris confirms, laughing as he closes the fridge with his other arm.


End file.
